


Pilgrims?  Yes.  Progress?  That’s Dubious.

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [13]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2028825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the last local stop on their farewell tour, though - at day treatment, because he'd <i>promised</i>, and of all promises that one really deserves keeping - there are tears.  Hugs, lots of hugs, and big, wet, streaking-down-the-cheeks-unheeded tears.</p><p> </p><p>This is a direct sequel to <i>When You're Nowhere, Going Somewhere Shouldn't be so Difficult</i> and will make the most sense read after its predecessors. </p><p>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1491664/chapters/3149554">Westward</a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Off into the big world they finally go.

_How fitting,_ Loki can't help but think - and sure, he shouldn't really be thinking just now… but, given how little sleep he got and how wired he is, it's going to take a whole lot more than being spread-eagled against the shower wall with Thor's dick stuttering in his ass to get him out of his own head completely - as his brother comes to a loud, rough end before Loki himself is anywhere close to climaxing.

He was brought here in the beginning, only to be fucked and ignored; it looks like he's leaving on much the same note.

Thor pulls out and cuddles Loki to his muscled, heaving chest. They slip and slide together, gasping for breath. "I love you," Thor pants out. "So, so much." He burrows into Loki’s soaking hair, humming happily.

Loki snickers. "I, on the other hand, might love you more if you helped me out here," he says, twisting slick and wet in his brother's arms until his poor, neglected erection slaps jauntily against Thor's thigh.

Everything is packed now, truly everything but the barest essentials. Which doesn’t leave a lot of options, and it’s obvious his brother knows it. Just as he’s about to say _forget it_ , Loki staggers sideways a little as Thor unexpectedly lets go of him. He steadies himself against the tiled wall and watches, laughing, as his brother – still trying valiantly to oblige, by the looks of things - knocks the shampoo over in a mad scramble to grab the conditioner.

Thor is still struggling to catch his breath as he pops the cap open with one thumb. The steamy air fills – it’s nearly choking, really - with the cloying scent of vanilla ( _awesome_ , Loki thinks, because now his dick is going to smell like sugar cookies until god knows when they're settled into their new place and he can wash himself properly again) as Thor squirts a generous glob into one palm. He sets the bottle down and pulls Loki close again.

The stuff is cool against his water-heated skin; it catches him by surprise and he jumps a little.

"Easy, easy," Thor soothes. He takes an experimental stroke and then another and another, laughing softly as Loki's legs start trembling.

"Now do you love me, baby," he asks, with one last twist of those big fingers, when Loki ejaculates messily into his hand.

"Maybe," Loki says. He lets his head come to rest - gently, for once - against the tile. "I'll have to think about it and get back to you."

Afterwards he condescends to let Thor rinse him off, front and back. It seems there might be something to be said for, now and then, actually letting himself enjoy being cared for.

~

Okay, now that he really thinks about it, maybe this morning isn’t quite so much like the night he first arrived here in this apartment after all.

~

It isn't until Thor gives him a last smooch on the cheekbone and shuts off the taps that they hear someone knocking on their front door. Pounding, to be more precise. "Fuck," his brother exclaims, still _adorably_ breathless, "that must be the movers."

~

It's fun watching Thor try to dress in a soggy panic. So much fun that a few minutes later, when he's eavesdropping in the hallway - just this side of indecent, but who's counting? – as his brother makes lame excuses, Loki decides to amble out into the front room and join the party.

He’s still _just this side of indecent_ , of course, and the movers - all three of them - clearly are counting. Especially after he grins at them. And winks.

~

"Jesus," Thor snaps, spinning to face him as the bunch of them snicker. "Go put some clothes on!”

Loki isn’t sure who – he himself, or the movers – ends up laughing harder. 

~

A good three hours of solid work later, things are finally winding down. The movers have all the furniture loaded and are nearly done cramming the van full of boxes; Loki and his brother are at least as close to finished stuffing the car with their breakables. Which is fortunate, because Loki isn't sure his legs are up for too many more trips up and down those fucking stairs. That, and the car looks dangerously close to bursting.

"Easy, easy!" Thor is shoving the TV around like crazy. They are both stupid exhausted but a multi-thousand-dollar flat-screen is hardly the right thing to take that out on. Loki shifts the corner so it's no longer wedged against the car ceiling and-…

"-owwww! Goddammit! Watch what you’re fucking doing,” he yells. “You do realize, genius,” he snaps at Thor a little less loudly, turning his red, painful thumb - the one Thor just crushed into the inside of the doorframe with all the strength he could fucking muster – this way and that as he fights not to cry, “that I need to maintain the use of all ten digits, don’t you?"

"Shut up or I'll crate you," Thor jokes.

It fucking isn't funny. Not right now. Maybe not ever. "I hate you," Loki mutters, sweat trickling down his chest as he sucks his smashed thumb.

"Well, I like the way you show it, then," Thor offers, still kidding. He comes around the car, smiling. "Here, let me," he says as he takes Loki's hand and gently wraps his own lips – not to mention _tongue_ \- around Loki's thumb.

It hurts - it does! - but something about the gesture is also incredibly fucking hot. Loki moans and surges forward, anger dissolving into lust as his mouth finds Thor's.

~

For a few happy, happy moments he _almost_ thinks he may get fucked again, right out here in the driveway.

He doesn't, not quite, but there's a surprising amount of very public rutting and hair-yanking and it's good. Very, very good. When they pull apart, panting again and both of them even sweatier than before, Loki's thumb is still throbbing miserably. Except now he can no longer bring himself to care.

"We need to finish up - _loading the car_ , I mean," Thor rasps against Loki's collarbone. "The movers will be done any minute and we need to hit the road."

His brother is right, unfortunately. For once Loki doesn't bother arguing.

~

The methadone clinic isn't open until after lunch today – the morning person had a family emergency and had to rush home, from what Sigyn explains when he texts her - so he takes care of that particular goodbye over the phone. Loki hasn't seen her in quite a while anyway; it's fitting, somehow, and he isn't unduly upset about it.

The way Thor gets about her, too, it’s probably better this way.

~

At the last local stop on their farewell tour, though - the center, because he'd _promised_ , and of all promises that one really deserves keeping - there are tears. Hugs, lots of hugs, and big, wet, streaking-down-the-cheeks-unheeded tears.

Leah is with a client. She excuses herself for a moment, which surprises Loki more than he wants to let on, and comes to her office door to give him a fierce hug that makes his ribs creak. "You be good for your new team, Loki," she tells him, "and remember: You can _always_ call me if you need me." When he swears he'll keep in touch and pulls away, Loki isn't the only one pretending he isn't crying.

He makes the rest of his rounds quickly, saving a couple of good hugs for the guard – the one who gave him the slippers, that awful time he’d spent the night at Volstagg’s house – and the manager from the pottery studio (who _just happens to be_ talking with one of the office assistants at the front desk when he’s taking his last stroll through the lobby), and then heads back outside to rejoin his brother. 

~

One of Loki’s usual DBT instructors is reaching for the front door just as he pushes it open. "You've done so well, honey," she squeals, hugging him close. "We're all so proud. You keep up the good work, you hear? Both of you,” she adds, directing the last bit to Thor.

"Yes, ma’am,” his brother says, politely. “And I'm proud of him too."

 _Surprisingly_ , Loki thinks, _Thor actually sounds like he means it._

Loki’s still thinking about that as they climb back into the car.

In fact, he’s still thinking about it when – with Thor beeping the horn in one last goodbye - the two of them drive away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are always ways to liven up a road trip.
> 
> Stress, and coping... which means, you know, _that_.

Finally, they’re actually _leaving_. Loki shifts around again and again, struggling to get comfortable; his seat is way too far forward, to make room for the TV and the rest of what’s crammed in behind it, and he can’t stretch out the way he’d really like to. It’s hopeless. He does his best not to whine, though; his brother is facing the much same situation and is of course considerably _larger_ to boot.

That, and Thor is driving. All in all, he has to be pretty fucking miserable too.

~

They head north out of town and drive along the river for a little while, up towards Loki’s most recent residential treatment facility. He asks to stop and take pictures here and there – the wharf from one of Thor’s post cards, the facility itself (although they don’t try to drop in; Loki’s really, really not in the right headspace for a fresh set of hello-goodbyes today), the cute café where they had lunch after their emergency trip to the coin-op laundry – and each time his brother is surprisingly gracious about it. They both get out and stretch their legs at every photo op, despite how most of the landmarks are pretty much right on top of one another. Thor even condescends to pose for a goofy joint selfie in front of the café’s big glass windows.

All of this cheerful cooperation, Loki knows, _should_ make him feel- loved, appreciated, something like that. It should. Instead he feels sentimental and sad and overwhelmingly anxious. Without all these common experiences to bind them together, it’s hard to imagine what their lives – together and separately – will become.

Yes, intellectually, he knows the whole thing is stupid. They have plenty of individual memories now, some of them decidedly unpleasant and others much less so, and yet they’ve had little trouble (of the sort that worries him, at least) stepping right back into a life together after years apart.

Intellectually, he’s reasonably comfortable whatever happens next will be fine.

Once you get past the rational, though, Loki is terrified. Terrified Loki needs- reassurance. Or relief.

Badly.

And neither option is easy to come by, not given the very short list of acceptable options still at his disposal.

He feels only marginally better when they turn west and his one final trip down that particular memory lane is over.

~

Loki tries not to fidget and wriggle and shift. He does! He even tries to sleep, first curling towards the window and watching the world pass by in a blurry, unfocused kaleidoscope of changing colors and then actually shutting his eyes and letting the car’s motion drag him down.

Nothing works. He’s exhausted and sore, but he’s also anxious and jacked-up and bubbling over with something that simply can’t be actual, legitimate energy but that demands to be addressed regardless.

That, and Thor keeps _yawning_.

At first, it’s just very occasional thing. His brother yawns loudly, coughs, and excuses himself. After several minutes, he does it again.

And again, and again, and again. Before long Thor isn’t even bothering to excuse himself anymore, and Loki – unable to ignore the way the car just isn’t keeping to the road as well as it should be, especially after the second or third time his brother hits the rumble strips along the shoulder and jerks back into the driving lane – makes himself sit up and act as a second set of eyes.

What he sees concerns him, and that’s saying something. He doesn’t want to die on the highway after all that fucking packing. Seriously. “Thor? You look like you’re going to keel over,” he tells his brother. “Do we need to stop?”

Thor laughs. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t sound convinced, let alone convincing.

“I can drive for a while if you need a break,” Loki offers, politely. He doesn’t have his license, sure, but he’s a perfectly decent driver and he’s far wider awake than he has any right to be.

“You aren’t legal,” Thor grumbles. “Nice try, but I’m not going to let you drive. Not today, not ever.”

Loki chokes down his gut reaction – they’re both too tired to fight safely, and his brother is correct (albeit condescending) – and hides it with a sigh. “Okay, but then we have to stop. Next rest area. I’m serious, Thor,” he warns as his brother protests weakly. “We need to sleep for an hour or two. Otherwise you’re going to get us both killed.” He laughs, trying to break the tension. “We can’t do that to Siffy, now, can we?”

After a long pause, during which they touch the rumble strips again and Loki strains to remember what he learned years ago – he did take the state driver education training, after all, back before he’d officially been declared _completely batshit crazy_ \- about stopping a car from the passenger seat if the driver loses consciousness, Thor clears his throat. “Okay. _Fine_. But not more than two hours. We got off to a late enough start as it is.”

His brother sounds angry, and – even though their lateness certainly isn’t solely his fault - Loki mentally girds for battle. It doesn’t come; within five minutes of pulling into the rest stop Thor is snoring.

~

Once again, Loki really does try to nap. Everywhere he twists and turns, though, something digs into him. The one time he nearly manages to doze off, his brain (un)helpfully reminds him he’s feeling lost and kind of lonely and that wakes him right the fuck back up again.

Thor groans. “Jesus, Loki, what does it take to get you to fucking sit still?” He doesn’t sound all that angry now, though; just exhausted.

Loki smiles (to himself – Thor’s eyes are closed). “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Anything,” his brother assures him drowsily. “Anything at all, if you’ll just _be quiet._ ”

Perfect.

~

They’re in a rest area, true. It’s not exactly private, but they’ve been here at least 20 minutes now; really, there hasn’t been a ton of traffic in and out of here since they first parked the car. They didn’t choose a space near the building anyway and, to top it off, their car is so jammed it looks like a clown car.

Who, seriously, is going to care what the clowns are up to?

He takes a quick look around at all their shit. There really, really isn’t much room to maneuver.

He’ll find a way.

~

Thor groans as Loki makes quick work of his zipper and deftly works his – soft with sleep, but that’s easily fixable – dick out through his fly. All _public lewdness_ concerns aside, Loki isn’t in the mood to be sweetly kissy and romantic anyway (even if there was room, which there decidedly is _not_ ). If nothing else, it would set entirely the wrong tone.

The last thing Loki wants is coddling.

No, he wants this rough… hard and messy and dirty, the way wide-awake Thor never agrees to play it.

Thor isn’t wide-awake, not this time.

~

He sets a punishing pace; it’s important not to give his brother any opportunity to think in amongst all the feeling. Consequently it takes barely any time at all before Thor is nice and hard. Only a few bobbing slurps more and Loki is ready to start the game.

Thor is, of course, predictable. _Predictably_ , his mind’s chief concern – not getting caught, as evidenced by the occasional breathy _Loki_ and rough, gasping _someone will see!_ – has take a backseat to his body’s. Which is, clearly, getting off as quickly as possible.

_I’ve got you now_ Loki thinks (and not in the nice sense of the phrase) as Thor – “stay down here!” - grabs his head to keep him still and bucks up into his mouth again and again. On the fourth or fifth thrust Thor finally gets it right and Loki swallows. From there on in he’s sure his brother’s body – unlike the annoyingly heroic brain inside that legendary thick skull - isn’t going to conflate _morality_ and _pleasure_.

He’s right; it doesn’t.

Thor catches on beautifully quickly for someone who has never done this before, holding Loki tightly in place – nose pressed right against his brother’s zipper – until he just starts to get truly desperate to breath and then hauling him back down quickly, roughly after only a couple of harsh gasps (and, yes, a gag or two; he’s out of practice. So, sue him) each time.

It hurts and it’s debasing and it’s exactly what he needs right now. 

When Thor finally shoots his load down Loki’s throat and has to be thumped on the thigh as a reminder to let go, Loki feels truly at peace for the first time in days. Weeks, maybe.

He sits up - throat _burning_ , eyes and nose streaming - and then sags back against the car seat and struggles to breathe.

"Fuck. Sorry," Thor offers, breathing hard himself. “I mean it.”

Loki smirks and swipes at his face – he’s a soaking-wet, slimy mess – with one arm. "Don't be," he offers, laughing. He means it too.

~

For maybe five minutes they slump in their respective seats without talking, the only sounds their harsh breathing and Loki’s occasional snuffles and coughs. Well, that, and traffic noise from the highway. 

"Seriously, Thor. Clean yourself up," he demands when Thor shows no sign of moving. He tosses over the last few dry napkins, first taking some for himself. "You wouldn't want to have someone's poor, innocent little kid peek in and see your slimy old junk now, would you?"

Thor huffs. "You're one sick fucking pig, you know that," he complains, more than a little shamefaced.

Loki laughs, which makes him cough again. At least Thor waited until they were done to get all vanilla and _guilty_ this time. "You didn't seem to mind my baser instincts when your dick was halfway down my throat, brother," he can’t resist observing.

It probably isn’t true, sure, but just now Thor isn’t in the greatest of positions to deny it.

When his brother doesn’t answer at all Loki twists to look. Surprise surprise, Thor has drifted off to sleep. Again.

This time Loki thinks he can finally do the same.

~

He can, and does. It’s hours later, judging by sun’s blindingly-low angle through the windshield and the long shadows whipping by, when Thor’s loudly-ringing phone jars Loki awake.

"Hi, kids," Sif says over the hands-free speaker. "Did you get lost?"

Loki yawns, shifting in his seat. He’s sore, everywhere, the kind of sore stretching doesn’t even touch. "We napped," he rasps before his brother can answer.

"Napped," Sif repeats. She laughs, but she sounds as tired as Loki feels. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"We're just pulling into town," Thor cuts in, jabbing at his phone until the map displays. "Fifteen minutes, tops. Hey, enough already," he adds loudly as Loki reaches over the console and sneaks in a friendly little squeeze.

Yes, _there._ Where else would he do it?

"Knock it off, you two," Sif orders. She yawns. "I've gotten all the boxes and small stuff, but I need your manly brawn for a few pieces of furniture. And if I don't get the truck back by 10:00 PM,” she reminds them, “those assholes will charge me for a whole extra day."

_Oops._ Still, it was all worth it.

~

Sif studies his face closely – Loki hasn’t caught a look at himself yet, but his lip is definitely split and he could easily be more than a little crusty – and then Thor’s, which goes beet red with satisfying speed. She laughs. Her expression is so sharply _knowing_ that, if he were anyone else, Loki would probably be just as embarrassed as his brother. Alas, he’s too tired to bother. "So I don't need to worry about how this might have happened, eh," she asks with a grin.

"Let's get your stuff inside," Thor suggests. Loki winks at Sif and stealthily answers her question with a crooked smile and a nod. "Running out of time,” Thor insists, parroting Sif’s earlier complaint. “Remember?" Anything to change the subject, apparently.

Loki can’t let that one go. "Ignore my brother," he instructs her, his voice a hoarse wreck. "Some of his kinks embarrass him.”

~

The rest of the evening is a bit of a blur – unloading Sif’s endless crap (not that brothers who live in glass houses have any right to judge) and their own breakables (see: _glass houses_ ) and driving and drowsily scarfing down _fabulous_ take-out pierogies that he is _so_ eating every few days until he’s disgustingly fat and Thor dumps him – but it’s fine. Loki feels warm inside, happy and cherished and loved.

~

_Screw tomorrow_ , he thinks later as he curls up with Thor on the smelly old air mattress. He’ll worry about tomorrow another time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a nice morning for taking a look around.

He'd woken up this morning in a funny little mood; still tired, sure, especially considering he'd spent half the night basically sleeping on the floor after the air mattress had - as always, and maybe someday they should actually _replace_ the stupid thing - given up under the relentless onslaught of two big, snoring Odinsons (!) and deflated, and still a little fidgety. Mostly, though, he's a weird mix of happy and sad. Of full and hollow.

A couple of minutes ago Thor - still visibly pained by Loki's rough-voiced _good morning_ and subsequent throat-clearing - had mumbled something blatantly dishonest about having a standing _therapy appointment_ and had excused himself hastily, fully-dressed and clutching his phone to his chest like a ward against evil, into what will eventually be their study. Or den. Or guest room. Or office. Something.

Right now it's just a bare, echoing space full of Thor and his first-world problems.

Loki doesn't even need to strain himself to eavesdrop, not with the place still so bare. The conversation, what he can hear of it anyway, turns out to be boring. Thor boo-hooing over his Sluttish and Hopelessly Depraved Brother always is.

Even in between real-life things like they are just now, there simply aren’t enough hours in the day to waste any this way.

He rolls onto all fours and pushes slowly to standing, groaning as his back and legs - and shoulders; sweet baby jesus he really needs to work out more, and not just with the girly weights he'd used at back at the last center - complain about yesterday's hard labor. He looks around, pushing his gross, dirty hair out of his face. _Exploring_. That sounds nice, actually.

Loki takes his time padding around the apartment, really checking it out. This is actually the first time he's seen it in daylight. It's brighter and airier than their last place; the same high ceilings, but with more windows and more white. Most rooms have built-in storage – shelving in some places, cabinets with etched-glass faces in others – and metal-framed windows he’s never before seen. Not in a residential building.

The kitchen is big and pretty. It makes him feel a little like cooking. Well, like providing witty commentary as his brother cooks, anyway.

He’s just finishing up his circuit when his bladder protests; he opts to end his detailed investigation in the bathroom. Which, perhaps unsurprisingly, is also big and pretty. Sif sure knows how to pick ‘em.

The lower portion of the floor-to-ceiling window – between the toilet and the tub - is frosted. If he stands on tiptoe Loki can see out into- it could be a large shaft, or even a small courtyard. The lights are on in the bathroom across the way; for the most part he can only see shadows but when his mystery neighbor puts a hand directly against the glass all five fingers stand out in sharp relief.

Loki only just resists the urge to press his naked backside against the cool frosted pane (mostly because his rump is warm and the window isn’t, just in case anyone’s thinking he’s gone to hell and come back as a prude). Instead, he makes a mental note, smiling to himself. Well, he makes _two_ notes, the second being _NOT to tell Thor_.

Once he’s finished (peeing, and) amusing himself, Loki simply stands in the middle of the room and takes it all in. The fixtures are period Deco; authentic, well-maintained. So, so beautiful... especially the positively magnificent mirror. That, and the ridiculously over-the-top chandelier. _Yes, in the bathroom_.

~

Thor was both smart enough to pack shampoo in his suitcase and unwittingly considerate enough to _un_ pack it promptly. Loki lathers up, frowning again at the heavy vanilla scent (it’s okay for his brother to smell like food, but Loki would personally rather not, not on either end). Afterwards he rinses himself off quickly to take care of the worst of yesterday's sweaty grime. By angling the spray against the wall and keeping the pressure low he finds he can almost compensate for the lack of a shower curtain.

Almost. Where it doesn't work out so well, he grabs a few tissues and sops up the evidence.

~

They didn't bring nearly enough in the way of towels. Eh, there’s always nature. Loki dries his feet reasonably thoroughly, wraps his hair in a glorified dishrag, and darts back through the bedroom and out – through the open glass doors - onto the balcony.

It's a recessed space, walled in on both sides and nicely private. Except for, um, the wrought-iron railing.

Eh. It's not like he's jerking off out here.

Eventually, out of consideration for his brother’s delicate sensitivities (not to mention his own naked butt on the cold balcony floor), he does wander back inside to grab a blanket. He slips back outside, sliding the doors closed behind himself this time.

~

“May I?” Loki twists to look; Thor has opened the door just enough to poke his head through. He looks stressed. Nervous.

“Of course,” Loki offers, yawning. There’s a nice breeze and he’d been somewhere in the dead zone between daydreaming and dozing. “Be my guest.”

Thor opens the door farther and squeezes out. “I talked to my shrink about, um, sex again,” he starts off, like it’s some big national secret. “He gave me some homework.”

This ought to be interesting. “Oh, _really_ ,” Loki says slowly, flopping over onto his back and reaching both arms out in a long, lazy stretch. “Do tell.”

“Loki,” his brother huffs as the blanket slides off his lap and onto the floor. “We’re not exactly in the _middle of nowhere_ here, despite what you keep insisting!” Thor drops to a squat and quickly yanks the blanket across Loki’s bare crotch. “You’re terrible.”

Loki smiles toothily at his brother. “I like it here,” he says, gesturing around them with one hand. It’s just enough movement to make the blanket shift dangerously again. “There’s a lot to-… see.” He laughs; Thor pointedly doesn’t.

“So, really, what’s your homework,” Loki asks, propping himself up and trying to be a little more polite. He’s probably had enough fun at his brother’s expense for now. And he truly is only playing around, not trying to be an asshole. Seriously.

Thor looks- pained. “Yesterday,” he starts in. “In- in the car.” _Ahh, yes, that._ “Was I too rough with you?”

“No, not at all,” Loki assures his brother. “I like things like that, you know. I like being used now and again.” He does. It leaves him feeling happy. Which is probably weird, but whatever.

Thor blushes bright, bright red. “But _why??_ ”

Say what you will, Thor does _incredulous_ beautifully.

“I don’t know.” Loki shrugs, shoulders protesting the strain. The _why_ of these things is not really something he thinks about much. “Why do you like peanut butter? Seriously,” he adds, frowning a little grumpily when his brother laughs. “It’s about as weird a question.” _Why do you like vanilla hair glop? Why do you fuck your-… never mind._

Thor scrunches up his red face. “Can I think about this some more,” he asks, which might actually be an even weirder question.

“Sure, but be careful,” Loki teases, laughing himself this time. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” And then he has an actual good idea. “Hey, do you have plans,” he asks his brother, grunting as Thor jabs his ribs. “For the rest of the morning?”

“No,” Thor says carefully, like he’s worried as fuck about what he’s signing up for. Which he probably is. Hah!

It’s hard to resist being downright awful, especially when the opportunity is served up on a platter, but Loki does. “Good,” he says, simply, digging his phone out of the blanket. He unlocks the screen and brandishes the screen at Thor. “It looks like there’s a pretty park about five blocks from here, with ponds and everything.” He smiles again, nicely this time. “Care to do a little sightseeing?”

“Ooooh, yes,” Thor exclaims, sounding so relieved it’s all Loki can do not to die laughing. “But put some clothes on? Please?” He stands, grunting quietly, and puts out a hand.

Loki climbs to his feet, purposefully letting the blanket ride very, very low. “For you,” he tells his brother, “maybe just this once.”

It’s okay. He didn’t _really_ want to go to the park naked anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over-thinking on a lazy day...

Out from under the protection of the balcony it's surprisingly warm. The sun beats down as they're walking, bright and high in the sky, and for a few minutes Loki – sweat trickling beneath his well-it- _was_ -mostly-dry mop of unruly hair (the water here is different; between that and his brother's shampoo, his hair looks and feels like some freakish dead alien) and all down his spine - almost wonders if going out was yet another bad idea.

Almost. Once they get there, the park itself is a veritable _haven_ and all his doubts are wiped away.

~

They don't try to talk; the two of them simply stroll along - at a pace so slow it barely even qualifies as _leisurely_ \- under the tall trees. There are surprisingly few people around for such a pleasant weekend day, which is fine. Fewer people equals calmer Thor equals less inane chatter. On either of their parts; inane chatter under stress, after all, is hardly just a _Thor problem_.

Loki is edgy and a little bored, yes, but he's mentally and physically spent and talking makes none of that in any way better. No talking! Instead he finds a better way to hold up his end of the arrangement: Touch. Which is why he’s trailing slowly through this pretty, pretty place with Thor's big, over-warm fingers laced loosely amongst his own.

~

Thankfully, too, under the trees it's much cooler. The two of them trudge, still slowly, up a small hill and over its crest; just past the top, Loki can't quite stifle a little _oh_ of pleasure.

The pond (and it’s a big one; almost a small lake) lies just ahead, down a gentle incline. A good bit of it - more than half, probably - is in full sun, but this end is all shifting shadows and dappled shade. There's enough of a breeze to kick the water's surface into countless wavelets and ripples that sparkle like diamonds, even close to this shoreline - do ponds even have shores? - where the sunlight barely touches.

Right along its edges, just inside a scattering of waving reeds, are countless glossy green water lilies. The pads bounce and shift merrily with the water's movement.

And closer to the pond’s center, where there isn’t any visible plant life: a festival of ducks! Wood ducks, mergansers, mallards, and a few smaller ducks Loki can’t identify. It may be the largest collection of ducks he’s ever seen in one place. Either way, it’s certainly the prettiest.

It's prettier than the pictures, even. Loki sighs happily, troubles (momentarily, at least) receding back into the deep, dark hidden reaches of his brain. He tugs Thor's hand, insistent, and starts down the grassy slope.

"Here," his brother suggests, stopping by a large tree. Thor drops into a deep squat, still holding Loki’s hand. "Oh, yes. This is perfect."

"Mm," Loki agrees. He lets Thor pull him down and roll him around until they're snuggled together against the trunk. It really is perfect, too; close enough to enjoy but still high enough above the surface to afford a good, long view.

For a few minutes Loki sits there with his mind idling, just letting the peaceful view wash over him. Calm. Soothing. Ducks take off and land, splashing and quacking. His brother cuddles him close, his spine pressed into the meat of Thor's chest. Cozy and peaceful. Ducks and breathing. Up and down and in and out.

It’s awfully bright, though; he’s not wearing sunglasses and it isn’t long before his eyes start to sting.

~

He shifts a little and turns his attention to the closest water lilies instead. Once his eyes readjust to the dim surroundings, the plants in near-darkness by contrast to the far brighter distant view, Loki can’t help but notice: Even here there are ducks. Lots of ducks; ducks skimming along, paddling silently through the reeds and bobbing gently between the pads. As he watches, one goes bottoms-up. It’s after food, undoubtedly... still, he can't help but count in his head until it pops back up and noisily shakes itself off.

Even in the dim light the water sparkles.

~

The next time a duck goes under, blunt tail waggling and feet flipping about, Loki holds his breath.

The things have stamina, for sure; by the time it finally comes up for air his own lungs are feeling the strain. 

He doesn’t mean to go anywhere dark with it.

He doesn’t.

One thought ( _it must look really cool down there, in the variegated green shadows_ ) simply leads to another ( _I could disappear in there without a trace and not come up for a week, as long as I went down without a stupidly huge lungful of air_ ) and another ( _I wonder how bad it really feels to breathe water; whether all that awful panic is physical or purely mental_ ), on and on, and before he knows it he’s holding his breath again. Shortly thereafter he’s caught out as he shifts uncomfortably against his brother.

“Everything okay,” Thor asks as Loki tries to nonchalantly settle back in. His brother’s fingers drag across his stomach lightly. "So, what are you thinking?" 

Loki groans inwardly (about the question, not the fingers; the touch makes him feel shivery and surprisingly _good_ , in ways that clash terribly with everything that’s going on in his head just now). "Don't ask me things you don't want to know," he says, feeling abruptly brittle.

"I _do_ want to know," his brother insists, nuzzling into Loki’s messy vanilla cookie hair. “Please tell me.”

By now the nice day seems charged and dangerous. "No, you don't,” Loki corrects his brother. He blinks. And then he decides to take a big, big chance, to go so far out on a limb that he may disappear entirely: “Knowing that, if I tell you anyway,” he asks, “do you promise not to spaz out on me?"

"I'll do my best not to, baby.” Thor offers, earnest. He snuggles Loki, lips close to one ear. “Is that good enough?"

Loki (shivers again, then) takes a big breath and dives. "I was wondering what it would feel like to just slip beneath the water – out here, in this pond, over there by the lily pads -," he explains, pointing to the area near the shoreline where the ducks still bob eagerly for food, "and drown. Whether it would hurt. Too much, I mean." He shrugs, fighting hard not to curl in on himself.

Thor stiffens. His grip on Loki’s torso tightens

It’s not to the point of pain, though… and Thor doesn’t do anything- awful.

~

After a long silence, during which Loki holds his breath once again, his brother finally responds. "I hope you don't do it,” Thor says, carefully. “I hope you don’t drown yourself, I mean," he clarifies, voice breaking a little.

This reaction isn’t- it manages not to be what Loki expected in any way, somehow. It’s at once better and worse, and he isn’t at all sure how to deal with it.

"I don't think I will," he says, eventually. He doesn’t. He wasn’t actually planning on dying. Not today. He was just letting his thoughts unspool. "I- I just think things like that, you know?" He wriggles and snuggles as close as he can, feeling sharply guilty for frightening his brother.

"Thank you for- telling me," Thor offers, haltingly.

Loki shrugs again, right up against his brother’s warm body. "And thank you for not blowing up," he says, because he does appreciate it.

The tension is almost unbearable. "Kiss me," he pleads at last, because right now they _need_ to stop talking. He twists a little, to give Thor a better (more tempting) angle.

Thank fucking god; his brother does kiss him.

It’s a bit like they’re _both_ drowning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to day treatment we go.

He turns and looks back just the once - only his head; a sidelong glance, trying to keep it subtle - before he reaches the shiny, clean glass-and-metal doors. Sure enough, the big black Lincoln is still idling quietly at the curb.

Thor'd made the arrangements a couple of weeks ago - _you can start walking once you're settled in, if you want_ , he'd said that morning, all cheerful magnanimity, _but for now let's stay with the car_ \- while Loki'd been at day treatment. Of course he'd told them to have the driver wait, to not leave until Loki was safely inside.

_Okay okay_ , Loki reminds himself. _You're nervous. That's no reason to be a paranoid ass._ He touches the door handle right where it says _press to enter;_ the thing glides smoothly open with the faintest of vaguely sci-fi-airlock-y hisses.

Once he is indeed _safely inside_ and the door has closed equally quietly behind him, Loki twists again. The black sedan is _just_ pulling away.

~

"Good morning, Mr. Odinson, and welcome," the attractive woman behind the tall marble counter- security guard or receptionist, he's not certain, greets him cheerfully. "How are you today?"

"Fine, thank you," he responds smoothly, his brain failing over into the convenient autopilot mode left over from some past life… one where he'd been raised to be polite and businesslike. "Please, just Loki. How are you," he adds, remembering that last bit (what feels like) just in time.

He hopes Frigga would be proud.

He really doesn't give two shits about Odin.

"I'm well, thank you," the woman - her name tag says Ms. Stevens, although the photo ID clipped to her lapel reads _Carly_ \- replies, still cheerful. It's early on a Monday for so much cheer, so much so that it sets Loki's teeth on edge. _Behave_ , he reminds himself. He's brand, brand new here. "If you have your ID and proof of any applicable insurance," she prompts, “I'll just get you checked in and then one of our case managers will be right out to get things started."

Loki digs for his wallet, then forks over his non-driver's ID. It clicks on the burnished counter top. "I'm private pay," he tells her, trying to hold- well, everything out of his voice and failing more than a little. For whatever stupid, stubborn reason he continues to insist - despite how he's got files all over the place that light up alarms like goddamned Christmas - on keeping this sort of thing entirely off the record. Save insurance for court-fucking-ordered rehab, if it ever comes to that. And here’s hoping it never does.

"Thank you," Carly says again. Loki finds himself wondering how many thousands of times a week she thanks people. She types something on a computer neatly concealed behind the counter; he can just hear the faint, fast clicking as her tastefully-manicured fingers no doubt fly over the keyboard. "Perfect. Right this way," she offers, standing to gesture (gracefully, from the shoulder: no pointing here, no siree) towards a door - a door which just materialized out of nowhere, scarily silent and until now completely invisible - along the paneled side wall. A green light blinks beside it.

Swallowing down whatever's trying to choke him, Loki goes.

He's met on the other side - and this hallway he does remember from the tour - by a neatly dressed man armed with a green plastic folder and a long coiling strip of printed labels. "Loki," the man says, shuffling everything into his left hand and extending his right to shake, "I'm Paul. Welcome. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Somehow Loki doubts that, but he too is capable of playing nice. He shakes Paul's hand firmly - he _can_ be a grownup; he can - and says something both pleasantly innocuous and instantly forgettable.

"Have a seat," Paul suggests, showing Loki to a small, lovely office, "and we'll get you processed. Then you can start your day."

Loki already started his day almost a couple of hours ago now, with a rude alarm clock wakeup call, a good ass-scratching, and a perfunctory hand job. Paul, of course, doesn't need to know any of that. Loki nods politely, sits, and tries not to think of the Borg.

~

It takes maybe 20 minutes, tops. Towards the end of it all, (his head is spinning and) he has a reasonably-flattering photo ID of his own, authorization labels plastered on all of his pill bottles, a glossy printed map of the building to keep for his very own, contact information for his treatment team loaded on his phone, and a copy of today’s schedule. He has indeed been thoroughly _processed_.

He wants nothing more than a nap.

“-don’t need to be escorted, your badge will open the door,” Paul is explaining, and Loki blinks a couple of times in quick succession. He forces himself to pay attention a little longer. “Just look straight into the lens as you touch your badge to the reader.” Paul smiles. “I know this must feel a bit like you’re in the middle of a spy novel but, really,” he assures, “it’s meant to keep you safe.”

Loki nods. “And where do I not need to be escorted,” he asks, trying to act nonchalant. Not like someone who very nearly dozed off in the middle of his Very Important Introductory Information Session.

“It’s all here on the map,” Paul tells him, unfolding the trifold brochure right-side-up in front of Loki with practiced ease. He can feel himself blushing; he’s probably been told this at least once already, while his brain was off in the ether. “Any room with a green border is yours to enjoy. The blue-bordered areas are the classrooms, and these spaces,” Paul continues, finger tracing along the edges of a room boxed in red, “require an escort. It will all make more sense when you see it in action, I promise. Shall we?”

Loki consults his schedule and then his phone. His first commitment isn’t until 10:00; it’s not even quite 9:00 (despite how it feels like fucking midnight already). There should be plenty of time to first appease Paul by accepting a personal guided tour and then head for a green-bordered space – one (!) of the libraries, maybe, or even the art studio – and make a last-ditch attempt at getting his head together. “Sure,” he agrees, starting to stand. “Please.”

~

At 9:00 the halls fill – relatively speaking; there is a nice low people-to-space ratio here, it seems – briefly and Loki is reminded uncomfortably of school. Paul moves smoothly through the halls as though no one is even there, though, not even pausing as he gives handy tips and opens doors and generally shows Loki the lay of the land.

It’s all beautiful, of course, like a ritzy conference center. And draining. Loki feels like his head is about to explode. And then he wonders if this is what starting a new job feels like. _Thor did this to himself for you, you ingrate_ , he thinks… and has to curl his lips in and bite down on them sharply to keep from crying.

~

Forever and a day later, they’ve come full circle and are finally standing back in the main hall. “Can I answer any questions,” Paul asks, still polite and friendly, not a hair out of place. “I’m right here” – he says at Loki’s headshake, taking the map gently and unfolding it again before pointing to the red outline of his office – “if you need anything later, then,” he adds, “just stop by. I’m here for you. We all are.”

~

In the bathroom a few uninvited tears streak down Loki’s cheeks. It’s all too much and he doesn’t think he can do this – doesn’t think he can last the 20 minutes between now and his introductory therapy session, _knows_ he won’t survive the session itself – but crying here in this stall (this polished marble stall with its chunky brass hardware and soft, thick toilet paper) is just- he doesn’t. He can’t.

He wipes his face and thinks pointedly of nothing. When another guy – client or staff, he’s not sure; he hasn’t yet learned to decipher the ubiquitous badges – comes in behind him as he washes his hands, Loki even manages a wan smile and a nod into the mirror.

~

He makes it to the closest library. It _looks_ like a library, a proper one – tall, narrow stained glass windows, dark paneling, leather chairs, books; oh, the books! – the kind you might find in someone (wealthy and important)’s home. It even smells like a library. He closes the door softly behind him.

Something inside of him cracks wide open. 

Heedless of the cameras he fucking knows must be here somewhere Loki plops onto the closest ottoman, covers his face with both hands, and bawls.

So much for being a grownup.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of chores and the people who do them.

The third week is the roughest, at least so far. Loki has settled in reasonably well at the new center, which should be a relief, but his DBT homework - it's all around relationship-building right now; being kind, tolerating distress, learning to be giving, developing a sense of gratitude - is _hard_ and it clashes with _Thor starting the new job_ like- like rust plaid with fuchsia paisleys. Which is to say: badly.

~

They'd (called Anna to consult, when he'd flat-out insisted, and then) dicked around with his meds last week, after a few days when it had been grossly obvious to one and all that something had to change. The dose adjustments do seem to have helped, but he's still leveling out and fragile, tippy Loki is nobody’s favorite Loki.

That plus coping with Thor's new job stress - which Loki does _get;_ the experience of coming to day treatment here, into something so radically different he can't even, is still fresh and crisp in his own mind – just isn’t adding up to anything even _close_ to Relationship-Poster-Child-worthy.

Not unless it’s a _WANTED_ poster.

~

The red handprint on Thor's pinkish-golden cheek serves as clear proof of that, if anything does.

Loki is ashamed of himself. He's on the sofa next to his brother, palm still stinging fiercely, only half listening as Thor tells him how much he's loved. Treasured. "But why?? I just hit you," he protests. "Without provocation."

Thor shrugs. "We're both stressed," he offers nicely, pausing to turn Loki's burning hand palm-up and kiss it again. "And I know better than to push you when you're already struggling."

_I'm sorry_ seems cheap and hollow, even though Loki _is_ sorry. On top of which, slapping his brother is wholly _not_ gratifying when Thor takes the high road and doesn't fire back in kind.

Which is exactly what _he_ is supposed to be learning. And practicing.

Except he's supposed to be the one _giving_ , not the one receiving.

He sighs. "I'm a shitty, shitty boyfriend," he says in lieu of _sorry_. "I don't fucking deserve you."

"Nonsense," Thor protests, shifting to kiss Loki's temple. "You have your moments, sure," he amends, voice soft – and when Loki turns to look his brother is smiling sweetly - "but so what? We both do. I'm just glad we have each other."

_Hmm._ Now Loki can finally list off something for which he's grateful. "I'm glad too," he says, trying hard to show in his expression that he’s being genuine.

His brother beams.

It seems the DBT instructor might have gotten it right after all. This _does_ feel good. "I love you," Loki offers cautiously.

The big, awkward bear hug Thor gives him – the one with the wet _I love you too_ all up the side of his neck - feels even _better_.

~

The fourth week is quite pleasant, at least by comparison.

Thor actually takes him grocery-shopping, without any wheedling and pleading on Loki's part. The big, cheery store full of fruits and vegetables and all sorts of packaged goods - and meat, probably, along with dairy... but they're preparing to cook Siffy dinner so Thor steers them both clear of those sections - lifts Loki's mood considerably. He hasn't done a single chore in forever, not beyond getting his own crap in the hamper and trying not to leave long, black hairs all over the bathroom, and it feels good to be deemed at least minimally responsible.

It’s another thing he for which he can be grateful.

~

The next night, they cook together for the first time in the new apartment. And for once they really are kind of _cooking, together;_ Loki, who is still working harder than hard on his homework, wisely opts to keep his mouth firmly shut about the entire subject when – much to his surprise - his brother actually lets him use a genuine kitchen knife to _cut things_.

“So,” he says, chopping away like it’s nothing, “I haven’t met- Steve, is it? _Steve_ ,” he says more firmly when Thor nods, “yet. Have you?”

Steve is Sif’s new… well, Loki isn’t entirely sure. She hasn’t been saying _boyfriend_ , but the two of them have been spending a lot of time together and now she’s bringing him over to _meet the family_. If nothing else it will be interesting to make the acquaintance of someone who isn’t in recovery. Too, he likes it that Sif wants them – wants _him_ \- to vet this guy for her.

“Nope,” Thor says, “but she speaks highly of him. Try to be nice,” he adds, “please?”

Loki isn’t letting anything interfere with his good mood. Not tonight. Not even hints of judgment. “I’m always nice,” he corrects, stretching over (look, no hands!) to give his brother a kiss.

“Ah-ah,” Thor chides. “Watch what you’re doing. Sif will kill us both if you ruin the evening by chopping off one of your fingers.”

~

“Ooh, that smells _good_ ,” Sif exclaims the second the door opens. “Baby!” She wraps Loki in a big hug. “Mm, you smell good too.”

Thor comes up behind Loki and catches the door. “Come on in,” he offers, stepping aside and pulling Loki along with him

“Thor, this is Steve,” Sif says as _the new guy_ follows her in. He’s handsome, with lovely long eyelashes and a body that rivals Thor’s.

_She always did_ , Loki thinks, _have good taste in men._

“Here, let me take those for you,” Thor offers as Steve begs off shaking hands thanks to an armload of bottles of fancy sparkling water. Loki doesn’t normally get to see his brother _playing the gracious host_ ; when Sif comes over by herself, any semblance of formality is wholly cast aside (to put it mildly); back at their old place, when the guys came over for poker, it was much the same.

This, though, is nice. He feels like an actual grown-up when Thor introduces him to Steve as _my partner, Loki_.

~

Of course, he doesn’t do the world best job of _acting_ like a grown-up.

By midway through the meal, Loki finds himself more than a little jealous of how simple and happy things between Sif and Steve looks to be. Especially when Thor compliments them on how _cute_ they are together. One thing leads to a( needy, greedy )nother and he ends up on his brother’s lap making out like he’s just stumbled upon water in the desert.

“Loki,” Thor scolds, dodging, but he’s laughing. “Sorry,” he tells Steve, “He’s prone to sudden fits of affection.”

Steve laughs, and so does Sif. Thor gives Loki a little squeeze, and it seems things are _okay_ again after all. Mollified and a little surprised at himself, Loki mumbles “sorry” and shifts back onto his own chair.

~

Once _whatever it was_ is out of his system Loki manages a reasonable approximation of relaxing. And when he does, Thor does too. And Sif, really. Everybody.

~

All in all, it’s a nice evening. “I really enjoyed meeting you,” Steve tells Loki as the two of them prepare to head back to their own apartment. His smile is open and genuine, and he treats Loki just like one might treat a normal person.

“Same here,” Loki responds, meaning it.

“We’ll have to do this again soon,” Thor offers, giving Sif a big hug. “This one seems like a keeper,” he whispers before letting her go; it’s probably meant to be a secret, so Loki just smiles and says nothing.

Steve blushes anyway.

Loki makes a mental note to speak with his brother about _awkward errors in volume_ but then decides to just _let it go_.

~

_stuck in a mtg,_ Thor texts around 5:00 PM. _home by 7 promise_

Loki opts to show a little initiative for once. As soon as he gets home from the center, he marches around stuffing things in the laundry basket. The washers and dryers are in the basement here; it’s not super-convenient, but the laundry room is clean and the equipment is new, so they make do. He’s helped out with this particular chore twice now; he’s pretty confident he can do the whole thing himself. If he can get it finished up by the time Thor comes home, too, they can find better things to do with their evening.

When he gets to the basement - a roll of quarters in his pocket, hangers and detergent stuffed precariously into the basket along with all the clothes - _Sif_ is just putting quarters in one of the washers. “Hey,” she says, smiling. “Great minds and all that.” She makes a worried little noise. “What did you think of Steve?”

“He’s pretty,” Loki says, smirking, “but he’s not my type. Ow ow okay,” he adds, backing away laughing as she slaps at his arms playfully, “he seems really nice. The two of you look happy.”

She gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “He’s not replacing you guys. Don’t worry.”

~

They laugh as they bump into one another again the better part of an hour later, Sif coming up to the lobby just as Loki heads down to throw his and Thor’s wet clothes into the dryer. “See you about 6:45,” Sif says. “We can be _folding buddies_.”

~

This time, he just beats her to the lobby. “I’m going to steal your unmentionables,” Loki threatens as they race one another for the stairs, bumping and jostling like a couple of kids. He wins the race to the doorway and starts down ahead of her, feet pounding on the treads as fast as he can move them-

-and then he catches a toe on something and he’s _flying._

Sif screams.

_Uh oh,_ Loki thinks as the remaining steps go by one by one by one in slow motion. He tries to tuck but doesn’t quite make it; he lands hard and takes the full force of the fall on the heel of his right hand.

~

He’s not sure which is worse, really; the white-hot jolt of pain or the sickeningly loud _crack_ that accompanies it.

_Fuck_ , he thinks, mouth filling with saliva and cold sweat breaking out all over. _Thor is going to kill me._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It only takes the smallest thing...

The bang of the door against its frame leaves his ears ringing. For a good minute Loki stands in front of the mirror. He leans, chest heaving, with his good hand on the sink’s edge while his other hand – the one that’s encased from knuckles to well up the forearm in fiberglass and still pretty much dead numb from last night’s nerve block – dangles useless against his hip. He strains to listen, half expecting his brother to come back and give talking him out of staying home alone yet another go… because Thor is fucking _like that_ and Loki knows leaving him here unsupervised for even one single day is _killing_ his brother.

Another half a minute ticks by, though, and what he actually hears is the muted thud of the front door.

~

Loki’s smug self-congratulatory attitude burns off surprisingly quickly.

Running the tap until the water is cold and then filling a glass is- well, it’s doable, but it takes a shit ton of extra steps and nearly results in a dropped glass not once but three times.

The sink isn’t flat enough to serve as a counter, not when the glass is full, so Loki stretches to set the thing on top of the toilet tank.

He moves on to wetting his toothbrush – that takes a lot of extra steps too, and he’s tempted to just dip the goddamned thing in the glass of water; he doesn’t, because that’s disgusting and he’s trying to do better – successfully enough, although he has nowhere to store it when he needs his one usable hand for the toothpaste. Loki briefly considers stuffing the stupid wet thing behind his ear; it ends up going on the back of the toilet as well.

Of course, no sooner has he set it down than the toothbrush nearly rolls off. He catches it before it can fall, jostling the glass in the process and sloshing water everywhere. Awesome.

Refill. Rinse, repeat. Literally. He blots ineffectually at the wet toilet tank with a hand towel.

And then can’t refold the towel and has to sort of wad it up and stuff it over the metal rail.

_Shit._

~

Thor, brute that he is, has somehow put the cap back on the toothpaste tube with all the force of an impact wrench. Loki tries holding the tube up and gripping the cap with his teeth, but all that does is strain his jaw uncomfortably. He tries shoving the tube into his right armpit – his upper arm still has feeling and strength, after all – and valiantly attempts opening it that way, but he can’t really get a good grip. That, and the angle is all wrong for his less-dexterous left fingers.

Ultimately, he clamps the thing vise-tight between his knees and is finally able to work the cap loose. Which is all well and good, except he drops the goddamned thing. The little white plastic cap clatters on the tile and skitters away, disappearing from sight behind the toilet somewhere.

In the midst of everything Loki unconsciously clamps his knees together as he makes a fruitless left-handed grab for the escaping cap. A long arcing stream of toothpaste splatters across the floor and up the wall by the sink.

_Shit shit._

~

The logistics of fetching a stray toothpaste cap out from behind the toilet are at once annoying and not particularly challenging. At least, they are (and aren’t) right up until you have no use of one arm whatsoever. Loki can’t reach the cap with his foot. He can’t brace himself on the toilet with one arm and strain to scoop it up it with the other hand.

He can’t ask his brother to get it _because his brother isn’t here._

Loki huffs and curses and calls Thor ugly names in his head, even though (because) he does know it’s not _really_ his brother’s fault he’s here alone.

~

Thor doubtless would – if their places were exchanged – just leave the cap lying there all day and ask Loki to get when he comes home this evening.

Which, of course, would be the rational thing to do.

But Loki is seldom all that great with _rational_ to start with. Today, especially, he simply refuses to be defeated by a tiny, wet chunk of plastic.

That and, if he abandons the fucking thing back there, just _knowing_ about it will eat at him all day.

With an angry open-mouthed huff that makes him sound embarrassingly like a hissing cat, so much so that he actually manages to once again (if briefly) be thankful he’s alone here, Loki twists into an awkward, hunching squat and reaches out spread-fingered into the void. He can’t see the cap, but it has to be here somewhere… eventually his groping fingers knock it what sounds like slightly closer. He stretches a little further to the side-.

-and, in the blink of an eye, Loki learns a few very important things. They come at him one after another lightning fast, too close together to process properly:

Even without heavy-duty pain meds, sudden changes in position may leave a person who took a header down the cellar stairs not quite 12 hours ago a wee bit dizzy.

Despite how his arm is the only thing actually broken, the rest of Loki isn’t feeling 100% either.

Newton’s First Law of Motion (whereby _every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it_ ) applies equally to crazy people.

Oh, and then one more thing; Newton’s Third Law of Motion ( _for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction_ ) is clearly in play as well.

That last one, especially, Loki doesn’t quite grasp until he’s actually hit the floor.

~

_Hit_ is probably a bit too dramatic. It’s a gradual thing, a mildly-frightening unstoppable slide down the cold wall and onto the equally cold floor. It’s not particularly painful. In fact, once it’s all over and he’s just lying there unharmed, it’s almost funny in a _look at the fucking shitshow that is my life_ sort of way.

Right up until he realizes, on attempting to twist back to something approaching sitting, that he’s _stuck_. He’s wedged here, his good arm pinned helpless beneath his body. Loki wriggles a little as the sick dread sets in; sure enough, he’s trapped between the toilet and the wall and the floor. The cold, wet toilet, wall, and floor.

Without any way to get himself loose. None. Nothing whatsoever; no way at all.

~

God help him, he sure the fuck tries. Loki screams and roars until he’s hoarse. He kicks and flails. He gets his toes against the bathtub but still has what amounts to no useful leverage; it’s only enough to send the soap really flying.

(What used to be) the soap dish is some kind of hard plastic, brittle enough that it shatters as it hits the far wall.

The still-nearly-full water glass shatters, too, when he jars it off the toilet. It lands on the far side of the toilet with a wet pop and splatters him with water and tiny bits of glass.

Thor’s razor handle – his brother locks the blades up - hits the floor loudly. It doesn’t shatter.

Loki cries, big wet tears of frustrated rage.

When all that fails (to free - or to soothe - him), he thrashes about violently until he finally – accidentally, too, not like anyone will fucking believe it – smashes his face hard against the toilet. He feels the liquid running from nose to lip to chin; knows it’s blood before he tastes it.

That brings him up short, the sudden jolt of pain. The coppery taste.

It’s hopeless. Everything is hopeless.

He’s screwed.

Loki’s phone rests safe and sound on the bedside table. His pain pills and his psych meds are on the kitchen counter. His clothes are strewn about the bedroom. Even what’s here with him – water, a place to pee – might as well be on the fucking far side of the moon for all the good any of it is doing him.

His _brother_ is at work. His brother who doesn’t have to worry, because anything Loki might use to harm himself might just as well be on the fucking far side of the moon too.

It’s going to be all downhill from here (and not in a good way). Even where it’s resting awkwardly – still mostly numb and completely useless - across his hip, Loki can feel his bad arm just starting to ache with the dull, awful promise of something that’s going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better.

~

He shivers. The sweat he worked up while _expressing his opinion of the whole situation_ is chilling him, now that he’s finally still.

~

Loki knows crying is an exceptionally bad idea. He’ll just dehydrate that much faster.

After a few very bad minutes alone with himself, he can’t help but do it anyway.


End file.
